


Beginnings

by Augustus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Pre-Het, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-24
Updated: 2005-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: Every story has a beginning.





	

**i. begin**

Every story has a beginning.

* * *

**ii. severus**

'I think you'll find that the frogspawn dissolves more quickly if you add a pinch of salt.' 

Severus frowned, his gaze flicking from the potion in front of him to the earnest eyes of the girl at his side. 'It's a potion, not a recipe,' he snapped. 

'Try it,' she prompted. 

'It's not in the textbook.' 

She smiled: a confident twist of the lips. 'Try it.' 

'Why should I trust _you_?' Severus watched her face closely for any signs of deception. She was a Gryffindor, after all, and six weeks of Hogwarts had already taught him that Gryffindors and Slytherins weren't meant to get along. 

'Why _shouldn't_ you?' The girl shrugged and turned away, a slight shake of her head sending a quiver of movement through her auburn braids. 'But do as you wish. It's hardly any skin off _my_ back if you don't finish your potion in time.' 

Severus paused for a moment to consider his options, staring at the lumpy liquid that bubbled sluggishly at the bottom of his cauldron. She was right; the double period was almost over and a shortcut seemed imperative if he wanted to complete their assignment and have any chance at all of receiving a good mark. Could he trust the word of a Gryffindor, though, especially one he'd seen sitting next to that obnoxious Potter boy at breakfast earlier that day. 

'Five minutes,' Slughorn announced from the front of the classroom. 

Severus made his decision. After all, she hadn't seemed to be enjoying Potter's company; it would be unfair to judge her entirely by the cretins who shared her house. Reaching across, he took a pinch of salt from the open jar that sat in front of the Gryffindor girl, dropping it into his cauldron before he could change his mind. 

The potion fizzed for a moment, threatening to bubble over the rim of the cauldron, but the reaction soon subsided, leaving behind a smooth and perfectly coloured liquid. 

'Thank you,' he said begrudgingly, always one to acknowledge a debt when it was due, regardless of how distasteful the practice might be. 

'You're welcome,' she replied brightly, as though she hadn't considered the possibility of any other result. 

She was too confident in her own abilities. A Gryffindor trait, Severus noted. Some might call it a fault. He, however, was less convinced. There was a spark in her eyes that he recognised: she was aware of her own arrogance, proud of it, even. He found that intriguing in a girl of her age. 

'I'm Lily by the way. Lily Evans.' The girl reached across the gap between their desks, thrusting a small, white hand towards him as she grinned and tossed her braids. 

'Severus Snape,' he replied, taking her hand almost without thinking. He was struck by how cool it was, even in the humid confines of the Potions classroom. 

Her smile widened briefly before fading into an eloquent line. 'I know,' she said, returning her attention to the completed potion that sat cooling on her desk. 

Severus turned away in silence, suddenly unable to breathe.

* * *

**iii. remus**

At the back of the library, on the left side of the room, there stood a collection of study cubicles that provided the perfect hiding place for a young witch or wizard who preferred not to be seen. Remus discovered them during his third week at Hogwarts, and they quickly became his place of refuge whenever the day-to-day social bustle of school life became too much. 

It wasn't that he disliked the other students in his house, but rather that they could be a little overwhelming at times. It seemed like he was woken every morning by James demonstrating Quidditch moves by jumping from bed to bed, while his evenings were spent trying to block out the sound of Sirius's boasting as he tried in vain to fall asleep. Peter was much quieter, for which Remus was grateful, but there was a desperation in his attempts at conversation that soon became as tiring as the constant noise and movement of the other two. 

Remus wasn't an antisocial boy, but growing up without siblings had made him accustomed to long periods of time on his own. Hogwarts was thrilling and intellectually stimulating and a thousand other positives, but at times Remus felt like he was drowning in waves of conversation. His housemates would speak in shouts that echoed throughout the common room, and Remus would feel his fingers beginning to ache from his too-tight grip on the quill he was attempting to use. He couldn't concentrate in the middle of so many people, couldn't hear individual words in that tidal flow of sound. 

When it all became too much for him to bear, Remus made his escape. Although the library was never completely silent, it was the perfect haven for someone who wanted solitude and a place to think. Although Remus felt sure that his cubicles—for he had come to think of them as such—would undoubtedly begin to fill as the year progressed, he found it hard to picture that happening very soon. His fellow students were still intoxicated by the first flush of the new school year; even as their fifth week at school slid towards their sixth, study remained something that could be saved for later. Much later, if James and Sirius were anything to go by. 

It wasn't long, however, before Remus was proved wrong. On his fifth Friday at Hogwarts, he pushed open the door to the library with a sigh of relief. Transfiguration had been harder than usual that afternoon and, although James had offered to give him a hand with his wand movements, Remus had turned him down in favour of an hour revising in relative quiet. While the practical side of the subject was important, he felt sure that he would have a better grasp on all aspects of their lessons if he read over the first few chapters of their text. 

So intent was he on rereading the theory surrounding vocal tones that he had dropped his notes and quills onto the desk in his favourite cubicle before he noticed the girl sitting in the very next seat. 

A pang of disappointment overwhelmed him. Remus had come to rely on his moments of solitude; he felt certain that his time in the library was the only thing that had kept him sane during the past few weeks. Even without knowing who the trespasser was, he felt himself beginning to resent her for stealing away such an important part of his life. 

'I should've known it was you.' The intruder smiled warmly as she poked her head around the short wall that separated their cubicles. 'There aren't many people who'd use the library on a Friday night.' 

Remus felt himself flush with shame, instantly recognising her as Lily Evans, a girl from both his house and year. He'd never said more than a few quick greetings to her, but it was impossible to forget her name or face when he'd had to listen to James waxing lyrical about her in the dorm for the past few weeks. 'Other people probably have better things to do,' he muttered, unused to talking to pretty girls. 

'Speak for yourself,' she retorted, her smile widening as though to show him she wasn't really offended. 'I can think of absolutely nothing more important than trying to work out why my quill was more interested in becoming a teacup than the goblet I was trying for.' 

'You too?' Remus felt himself echoing her smile. 'James says it's in the wand movement, but I'm _sure_ it's something to do with my tone.' 

'James? Ha!' Lily rolled her eyes dismissively. 'I hardly think he's an expert on the subject, as much as he might like to think so. His goblet looked decidedly like a milk jug, even if he _did_ seem to think shoving it under my nose was likely to gain my approval.' Her voice softened as she gestured for Remus to join her. 'I've just been revising the voice theory myself,' she explained, nodding at the book that lay open on her desk. 'Pull up a chair if you like.' 

Surprising himself, Remus did as she suggested, taking the chair from his own cubicle and sliding it in beside hers once she'd scooted sideways to make some room. Her hair fell in thick red waves over her shoulder as she leant to point out a particular passage of text and Remus felt a burst of warmth rush through his body as she casually pushed it behind her ear. 

'You didn't want to study alone, did you?' she asked suddenly, looking up as a sheepish smile caught hold of her lips. 'I can be dreadfully pushy at times.' 

Remus opened his mouth to say that yes, he'd prefer to be by himself, that her offer had been very kind but he was probably better off alone. Somehow, however, the yes twisted into a no as the word passed his lips. 

'Good,' she said briskly, before returning her eyes to the textbook. 'We should make this a regular thing.' 

Several moments passed before Remus regained the power of speech.

* * *

**iv. alice**

To be fair to the twins, they had done as their mother had asked. 'Be sure to sit with Alice on the train,' their mother had told them, and Ben and Brian had been more than happy to comply with her request, ushering Alice into an empty compartment and spreading their robes and lunches all over the seats so that to anyone looking through the window it appeared like there was no more room. However, the moment she'd taken a seat beside Ben, facing the engine so that she could watch the scenery as it arrived, rather than once it had been left behind, her brothers both leapt to their feet in clumsy unison, identical expressions of mischief on each rounded face. 

'There,' Brian said, gathering his things. 'We've done our duty, now we're off to find our friends.' 

'We'd invite you,' Ben added, 'if only you weren't such a soppy little girl.' 

'Mama's going to send you a howler for this.' Alice glared at her brothers, wondering how her beloved playmates from the summer holidays had changed so quickly once it had been time for them to return to school. 

'Only if you tell her.' Brian slid open the door to the compartment. 'And only babies do things like that.' 

To her horror, Alice could feel tears of fear and frustration beginning to burn behind her eyes. Normally, she took her brothers' teasing in her stride but, teamed with the terrifying prospect of starting a new school, even the most overused insult had a much sharper edge. Turning towards the window, she pretended to be fascinated by a solitary pigeon searching for food beside the tracks, but the twins knew her too well to be fooled by that. 

'Cry baby!' Brian crowed. 

'Stop it,' she muttered, turning back to face them although the tears had begun in earnest now. She rubbed at her eyes with clenched fists, her tear-trails glistening streaks that bisected the freckled swells of her reddened cheeks. 

'Soppy little girl,' Ben repeated, his tone almost conversational as he looked to Brian for approval. 

'Am not,' Alice protested, her voice strong despite the quiver of her lower lip. 

'Are too,' Brian said dismissively, leaning against the doorway. Ben grinned at him, picking up the bag that contained his robes. 

'Am _not_ ,' she repeated, her voice a little louder. Arms at her side, she noticed that her hands were still curled into tight fists, her fingernails digging painfully into the soft flesh of her palms. 'You don't know what you're talking about, Brian Thornhill,' she said, glaring at him through the haze of her tears. 'I saw you crying in Mama's lap last week when Ben hit you on the head with his new broomstick!' 

Brian spluttered for a moment, his face and ears turning a deep shade of red. 'Did not,' he said finally, backing out of the compartment and pausing for a moment before disappearing down the corridor. 

Ben looked as though he was trying very hard not to smile. 'Better go find our friends, I suppose,' he said before following his twin, closing the compartment door behind him. 

_Friends..._

Alice sighed. She already missed the girls from the Muggle primary school she had attended for as long as she could remember. Her parents, both unusually open-minded for purebloods of their generation, had thought it important for Alice and her brothers to start their lives among Muggles. They believed, quite rightly, that a basic education in the ways of the non-wizarding world would ensure that their children wouldn't succumb to the snobbish and insular ways of their fellow purebloods. 

Even at her young age, Alice could see the merit in their decision. It didn't make leaving her friends any easier, however. She'd promised to write, of course, as had they, but Alice was a bright girl and she understood that time and distance would soon begin to intrude. No, Hogwarts was all but a new start for her. The only familiar faces would be those of her brothers, and Alice hardly thought they counted, especially now that they'd been so clear about what they thought of a younger sister tagging along with them and their friends. 

There was a loud and airy whistle from the front of the train and then suddenly Alice found herself toppling forward onto the floor of her compartment as the carriage jerked roughly forward, then settled into a smooth rocking motion from side-to-side as the train picked up speed. For the first time, she felt glad to be alone in the compartment, tears prickling her eyes once more. Feeling extremely ashamed of herself, she stood and brushed off her clothes, allowing the teas to roll down her cheeks unchecked. Really, she thought, picking up her bag from where it had fallen and placing it on the seat across from her own, she couldn't have had a worse start to her time at Hogwarts if she'd run into a troll on her way to the train station. 

Perhaps she just wasn't cut out to be a witch at all. Ben and Brian were fond of telling her that she was sure to be the family's first Squib. Even though she'd once responded to the taunt by accidentally setting fire to Ben's hair in a temper tantrum, and had shown many other signs of magic over the years, it was hard to discard completely the niggling thought that maybe, just maybe, the twins might be right. 

'Are you okay?' 

Caught up in her own thoughts and emotions, Alice hadn't heard the sound of the compartment door sliding open. Now, as she looked up, she realised that a slender redhead was standing in the doorway, looking at Alice with a concerned expression on her face. Embarrassed, Alice brushed the tears away from her cheeks, managing a sheepish smile. 

'I'm fine,' she said, although the waver in her voice sought to defy her words. 

The girl stared at her for a long moment before nodding. 'Do you mind if I join you? All the other compartments seem to be full.' 

Alice gestured for the girl to take a seat. 'Most people seem to already know each other,' she said, climbing back up on to her own seat and hoping against any more sudden jolts. 'Even the first years.' 

'I don't.' The girl shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the fact. 'I thought witches were just something you read about in books until I got my letter the other week.' 

'You're muggleborn?' Forgetting her tears, Alice regarded the girl with great interest. 

'That's what you call it, is it? Well, whatever the name, I certainly don't know anyone on this train. Well...' She paused for a moment. 'I guess I know you, now, don't I?' 

Alice blushed slightly. 'I suppose so.' 

The girl blinked. 'Oh, for goodness sake! I'm completely forgetting my manners. I'm Lily Evans.' She held out a hand for Alice to shake, smiling pleasantly. 

Alice hesitated for a moment before taking the hand, amazed that Lily had any interest in befriending a girl who had been crying alone in a train compartment when she'd first caught sight of her. 'Alice Thornhill.' 

'I take it you're not knew to all this like I am, then.' Lily dropped the coat she'd been carrying onto one of the seats before sitting herself, crossing her legs elegantly and folding her hands in her lap. 

'We're all witches and wizards. Mama, Dad, the twins... everyone in the family, as far as we know.' Alice shrugged. 

'I find it all so fascinating,' Lily exclaimed. 'I can't wait to meet everyone.' She looked at Alice quizzically. 'You must know a lot of people already, if you've been around this all your life. You'll have to let me know which people are nice, and who to avoid.' 

Alice fidgeted slightly in her seat. 'I only know my brothers,' she admitted, 'and they're in third year. My parents sent me to a Muggle primary school, so I'm just as lost as you are.' 

Lily's smile grew. 'Wonderful! We'll just have to look out for each other, then,' she stated. 

Alice could feel her cheeks reddening again as a flush of thrilled excitement filled her veins. 'Okay,' she said quietly, not trusting herself to say anything else lest she ruined her first chance of friendship at her new school. 

'I like you, Alice,' Lily continued, settling back into her seat. 'I'm sure we'll be the very best of friends.' 

Alice grinned and nodded, feeling her fears and loneliness evaporate in the warmth of Lily's smile.

* * *

**v. peter**

'That Evans Girl,' Sirius liked to call her. Peter didn't like to offer an opinion, but he enjoyed the sound of the phrase as it echoed inside his head. Her name was really Lily, of course—it was hard not to know so when you shared a dormitory with James—but Sirus never called her that. James always said it was because Sirius was a jealous prat. Peter didn't understand why Sirius would be jealous of a girl. 

She was pretty, he supposed, in that weak, girlish kind of way. Her hair was a striking shade of red, and her skin was clear and pale, but she looked like she might snap if the breeze grew a little too strong. Willowy, James called her, but Peter thought skinny was a more accurate word. She was short, too, although he probably had no right to criticise her for it, given that he was barely an inch taller himself, and even that was only if he stood particularly straight, holding his heels just above the ground. 

Her handwriting was neat; that was one thing that Peter couldn't deny. He'd been forced to sit next to her in class once, during their second week, and he'd been fascinated by the careful loops and lines of her letters as she wrote. She'd tried to speak to him that day, but Peter had just feigned a coughing attack until she'd given up on him with a raise of one brow. He hated her for that—for how she'd made him feel rude and cruel and about half an inch tall just by _looking_ at him in that way she had. She _looked_ at James all the time, but he didn't seem to care. No such thing as bad attention, he'd tell Peter if he asked. Peter often wondered whether James might have it the wrong way around. 

That Evans Girl liked to speak up in class, but only when she knew the answers. Peter sometimes knew them too, but he never liked to raise his hand in case he got Wolfsbane and Dogspaw mixed up again, or forgot that trolls took Mackenzie castle in 1463. Sometimes Sirius grew competitive, his arm flashing into the air in unison with hers, waving about as though he was trying to stir air. James always found that funny, but Sirius seemed to think otherwise, giving his answers with a tight jaw and unsmiling eyes. 

Peter sometimes wondered whether it was James who was the prat and not Sirius at all, even though the thought planted a cold chill of guilt within his chest. James never seemed to notice what his talking about That Evans Girl did to people's eyes. 

Peter was good at reading people. He could already tell when Sirius was annoyed and frustrated or when James was being loud to pretend he wasn't feeling lost. He'd only known them both three weeks, but he spent a lot of time watching them and wondering why they let him tag along. He always made sure to say the things they wanted to hear, even when James asked him about That Evans Girl and Peter wanted more than anything to tell him she was just an annoying eleven-year-old, not an angel like James believed. 

He could read _her_ , too, which was why he frowned when she cornered him in the common room and watched him with upset eyes. 

'You don't like me,' she stated, and it sounded like she actually cared. 

'It's not...' Peter began, then realised he couldn't order the rest of the words that were queued behind his lips. 

'You don't have to.' That Evans Girl sighed, pushing a stray tendril of hair behind one ear. 'I'd just like to know _why_. I'm not good with not knowing things,' she continued, surprising Peter with her candour. 'I like to understand why things are a certain way. Why people have the opinions they do.' 

Peter looked around, but there was no way of leaving without pushing past her and causing a scene. He coughed once, but the hurt look that immediately darkened her eyes made a second attempt catch in his throat. Finally, he shrugged, feeling a little like he was suffocating, caught in her simple trap. 

'James,' he began, but couldn't find any words to follow it. 

That Evans Girl's mouth tightened and Peter watched as small circles of colour rose in both her cheeks. 'I should have known,' she said, as though her words were as heavy as Peter's were, and for a moment he considered telling her that no, she was reading him wrong, before deciding it was better to leave things how they lay. 

'I like _you_ , Peter,' she said, but her eyes were far away. 

'Thanks,' he replied, because that was what you were meant to say when someone paid you a compliment, regardless of whether you knew it to be a lie. 

James never lied, at least not when Peter was around to notice. Peter liked that about him, liked everything really, except for the way James would throw a casual arm around Peter's shoulders and cause his chest to twitch and swell. 

'Thank _you_ ,' she said, and Peter was glad she had it wrong. James might think he loved That Evans Girl, but he deserved someone with warmer eyes. 

James deserved someone who believed in him. That Evans Girl, Peter decided, as she stepped aside to let him pass, had pretty eyes and a disarming smile, but James could do better. Jealous prat or not, Sirius was right.

* * *

**vi. narcissa**

Narcissa had been promised to Lucius Malfoy when she was five years old. She was raised to be grateful, and she'd grown to accept the match, in her own, languid way. Her older sisters were to become Lestranges, while she would produce a Malfoy heir. Such was the way of the wizarding purebloods. They were not taught to ask questions; they were expected to conform. 

At the beginning of Lucius's final year at Hogwarts, Narcissa was entering her third. Despite their age differences, however, it was well accepted amongst the Slytherins that the seat beside Lucius at the evening meal belonged to Narcissa. It was true that other girls—half-blood, most of them—had tried to tempt Lucius from his intended course. There had been rumours of short-term dalliances, which Narcissa resolutely ignored, but rumours were to be expected. Nothing had ever come of them; it was unlikely that anything ever would. 

Youngest of the Black sisters, her father's favourite and her mother's work in progress, Narcissa knew her place. She was beautiful, in a pale and frozen way, and had she not realised it herself, the appreciative glances of her male classmates would have quickly alerted her to the truth. She never worried about Lucius falling for another girl; he wouldn't find a better partner than her, regardless of how many older girls might throw themselves at his feet. Narcissa had been moulded into the perfect daughter and would become the perfect wife. It was her destiny, just as his was fathering the first son of the Malfoy-Black line. 

The Hogwarts sorting ceremony was always a dreadful bore. Even when it had been her turn to wear the Sorting Hat, Narcissa had regarded the whole thing with cool apathy. Blacks were always Slytherins; it had come as no surprise when she had become one too. 

Narcissa's third ceremony was no different to the others, a pitiful collection of new first years and a deafening clamour of cheers and applause that filled the echoing room. The As and Bs were eventless, save for the sorting of her cousin into Gryffindor, an interesting development that would break her Aunt Drusilla's heart. The Cs and Ds were no better: a host of dreary brunettes who tottered on the stool as though unable to sit still. It wasn't until the Es that the first student of any note managed to catch Narcissa's eye. 

A short and too-thin girl, 'Evans, Lily' wore a look of determination that Narcissa had rarely seen on the face of a first year. A pureblood from abroad, she decided. She didn't recognise the girl from her parent's parties, but only a pureblood would be so confident in her own fate. She'd be a Slytherin too, Narcissa predicted, judging by the strong set of her shoulders and the confident angle of her smile. 

Narcissa watched as Lily took a seat on the stool at the front of the Great Hall, noting with approval the elegant way she crossed her ankles once she'd smoothed her robes about her legs. She was a pretty girl, although not classically beautiful; her skin was a little too pale and her nose slanted slightly upwards at the tip. Her smile, however... 

She felt a rush of hot blood to her cheeks as Lily looked across to the Slytherin table and met Narcissa's eyes. Green... the new girl's eyes were green and her gaze seemed to drill right into the depths of Narcissa's mind. Her breath catching in her throat, Narcissa gripped the sides of her chair with her hands, her knuckles whitening from the strength of her hold. _Slytherin_ , she willed the hat, tasting metal as she bit down so hard on her lower lip that it began to bleed. _Make her a Slytherin._

'Gryffindor!' the Sorting Hat announced, to a rush of applause from that table. 

Narcissa let out her breath in a soft huff of disappointment as the girl stood and made her way over to her new housemates. 

'I hear that one's a Mudblood,' Lucius muttered into her left ear. 

'No wonder she's a Gryffindor, then,' she replied, the words so well rehearsed that she didn't even need to try. 

Over at the Gryffindor table, Lily was smiling calmly as Sirius patted her on the back. Looking up, she met Narcissa's eyes again, sending a warm tingle of anticipation throughout her limbs. 

Narcissa's mouth curved, unbidden, into a challenging smile, and the path ahead of her became a little less clear.

* * *

**vii. sirius**

Sirius and James were best mates from the moment they met. It was a little like love at first sight, just minus the snogging and the soppy poems about cherubs and flowers. Sirius got James. Eleven and a half years of being surrounded by his family and all manner of other pureblooded gits and he'd started to think he'd never find someone he could talk to without feeling a frequent urge to scream. James was all-round decent, though. A true diamond, nothing like the rough Sirius was ashamed to call his kin. 

Evans, now. Well, she was the only stone of contention, wasn't she? A pretty enough bird, Sirius was only too happy to admit, but there were only so many times he could hear her name linked to all manner of lovesick nonsense before he began to form something of a resentment to the girl. James called it jealousy, but it wasn't like Sirius wanted him to be directing that gooey rot at him. There was just a limit to the number of times he could hear the same old praise, unless, of course, it was being directed at him. 

It wasn't as though Sirius refused to talk to her, or anything like that. She was a friendly girl—well, unless your name happened to be James Potter—and nice enough to look at, even if she didn't have her friend Alice's curves. Sirius might even have flirted with her a few times, back in the first few days of school, before James had decided he was in love and Evans became out of bounds. She wasn't right for James, though. She was too girly, too studious, too... not-Sirius. Not that Sirius wanted James falling in love with _him_ , mind you, but the full attention of his best mate might've been nice every once in a while, without the shadow of Evans hanging over their heads. 

James, of course, had not an inkling. Dear, oblivious James, who wouldn't have seen a dragon if it had landed in his breakfast, let alone sensed a bit of tension between Sirius and the love of his life. 

Evans, it seemed, didn't share the blissful sort of ignorance that James enjoyed. 'What's your problem with me, Sirius Black?' she asked in the common room, the evening after he'd accidentally-on-purpose caused her to drop her books. 

'Problem?' he asked mildly. Sirius had the bored, pureblooded arsehole routine down pat, even if he didn't often bring it out to play. 

'You _know_ what I'm talking about,' she argued, a brief flash of hurt in her eyes almost making Sirius change his mind. 

Almost, mind you. He was made of stronger stuff than that. 

'Not at all,' he said instead, teaming his words with _that_ smile, the one he'd learnt from Bella that drove his mother mad. 

'Liar.' 

Her hair _was_ very red, Sirius noted. James had that right, at least. 

'Fine.' He shrugged. He could think of much worse insults. 'I don't see what it matters to you anyway. You can't be _everyone's_ friend, Evans.' 

She frowned, blinking more than should've been necessary. Sirius hoped she wasn't about to start crying; he was a pushover when it came to pretty girls in tears. 

He needn't have worried, as it turned out. 

'Why, you arrogant _prat_ ,' she growled, her voice low and controlled. 'Here I am, trying to work out whatever it is that makes you so prejudiced against me, and you're just throwing my efforts right back in my face. Well... forget it.' 

She tried to leave, but Sirius was smiling. 'Not bad,' he admitted with a begrudging nod of his head. 'You might turn out to be okay.' 

'Might...' She was speechless, the pallor of her face now broken by a small spot of red in the centre of each cheek. 'Why you...' 

And then, right in the moment before she shoved him to one side and stalked away, Sirius saw it. Her lips were tight, her brows were knitted and somehow the pale and skinny redhead had become beautiful in her anger. 

The perfect challenge, Sirius realised. For the first time, he found himself hoping that James would succeed. 

* * *

**viii. james**

Six weeks short of his twelfth birthday, James Potter met his future wife. He didn't know that then, of course. The full revelation came one week later, at eight past five on Thursday afternoon. 

The day had started inauspiciously. The Gryffindors had double History of Magic on Thursday mornings, which was more than enough to write the day off before it had really begun. Afternoons were a little better, with Charms and DADA in the middle and Herbology after lunch, but they were all tainted, really, by the echoes of the morning's boredom. 

Thursday afternoons, James liked to relax in the common room after his final class was done. Sirius, as always, was of a like mind, and the two friends quite often drew a crowd of spectators as their relaxation grew steadily louder and more impossible to ignore. On the Thursday in question, Sirius had just dared James to spill ink over the next person to say his name, when Lily pushed her way through the boys' crowd of onlookers, her hands firmly on her hips. 

'James Potter, what on earth are you doing now? If you lose any more house points—' she began, but before she could finish her threat, James had tipped an entire bottle of ink over her head, streaking her hair and face with black and coating her robes in a thin, sticky mess. The rest of her sentence never came. Instead, she just stood, open mouthed, while trickles of ink pooled on the floor around her feet. 

'Nice work!' Sirius commended him, and James really had to agree. He couldn't have carried out the dare more spectacularly if he'd had a shop full of ink at his disposal; even with only the one inkwell, she was still thoroughly inked. 

'Sorry, Evans,' James remarked lightly. 'A dare's a dare, and all that. You know how it is.' 

'A _dare_?' Lily wiped away a slow stream of ink that had been threatening to fall into one eye. 'This is your idea of _fun_ , is it?' 

'Well...' James paused. Somehow he didn't think the truth was quite what the situation called for, at least not at this point in time. 

'Of all the houses I might have been sorted into,' she snapped, 'I had to be landed in Gryffindor with you.' 

'Better than Slytherin,' Sirius offered, although James had a feeling that it hadn't been the sort of comment best favoured with a response. 

If Lily had heard him, however, she showed no sign of it, her gaze remaining steady as she glared at James. 

'I _did_ say I was sorry,' he pointed out, quite fairly, he thought. 'A simple cleaning spell will—' 

She cut him off. 'I know how cleaning spells work, Potter.' 

He reached for his wand. 'Well, if you'll just let me—' 

'Wait.' She nodded towards Sirius. 'Take his wand.' 

Sirius looked at James, a question in his eyes. James hesitated a moment, then nodding, holding out the wand. 'Better do as she say, mate. Hell hath no fury like a witch who's covered in ink.' 

Sirius did as he was told, hiding a smile behind a dramatic yawn. 

'Much better.' Lily drew a hand across her face, smudging the ink further still. Against the stark contrast of the black lines, her eyes seemed to shine an even brighter green than usual. 

Reaching into a pocket of her robes, she took out her own wand, quickly casting a cleaning spell while her gaze remained on James, as though she expected him to try to get away. Her spellwork, as always, was perfect. James had often wondered how a muggleborn witch could learn so much in such a short period of time. All that reading, he supposed, not that he thought much of books himself. 

Bereft of ink, Lily turned her wand towards James, an amused smile twitching at the corners of her lips. 'The question is,' she said mildly, 'what would be the most appropriate response?' 

James shrugged. 'Half a dozen sugar quills and a kiss on the cheek?' 

Lily raised an eyebrow. 'You wish.' She chewed her bottom lip for a moment before appearing to come to a decision. 'As much as I appreciate originality, there's something to be said for fighting fire with fire.' 

Stepping towards a table to her rear, she snatched up a bottle of ink before turning to face James again, her eyes alight with a mischievous glow. 'Or should that be "fight ink with ink"?' she mused, removing the lid and calmly pouring the bottle's contents over James's head. 

The ink felt surprisingly cool as it formed rivers between the strands of his hair and waterfalls down the back of his neck. Raising a hand, James rubbed the worst of it from his brow before it could run into his eyes. 

Lily was watching him expectantly, as though waiting for a show of petulance at having his actions turned back upon himself. James, however, was too busy noticing just how unusually dark a shade of red her hair was to care about the trickles of ink that traced his jawline, too busy being enchanted by the small band of barely-there freckles across the bridge of her nose to feel anything short of admiration for the girl who'd put him in his place. 

'You're beautiful,' he said without thinking, wiping ink from his lips. 

She rolled her eyes, looking towards Sirius as though seeking confirmation that she'd heard James correctly. 'Save it for someone who cares,' she replied harshly, once again meeting James's gaze. 

James just smiled, the sour taste of ink on his tongue and his heart racing within his chest. He watched her as she left, the on-lookers dispersing once she'd gone, and felt a dull ache of loss when she disappeared up the stairs leading towards the girls' dorms. 

' _She's_ got a temper,' Sirius remarked, handing James his wand. 

James smiled indulgently, his eyes still on the staircase. 'Watch what you say,' he said quietly. 'You're talking about my future wife.'

* * *

**ix. begin**

Every beginning has a story to tell.


End file.
